


everything stays, but it still changes

by jamesniall



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-12 21:51:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5682079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamesniall/pseuds/jamesniall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’re completely covered in flour, and by the time Niall manages to calm down his face is streaked with tears of mirth. Harry finally rolls off of him, though he makes no move to pull himself up, looking Niall over instead. “You’re all red,” Harry giggles when he turns to look at him, “all red and white from the powder.”</p>
<p>“Like a candy cane,” Niall laughs, and Harry snorts beside him so hard it sends a puff of flour into the air. Niall dissolves into another fit of hysterics, rolling onto his side to clutch at his stomach. Harry looks down at him with the biggest and fondest smile, and suddenly Niall realizes how close they are – how he’s practically curled into Harry’s side. How, if Bobby wouldn’t have appeared in the kitchen right at that moment, Niall could have reached out and kissed him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	everything stays, but it still changes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cookiesandcream](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookiesandcream/gifts).



> written for the prompt "When a huge snowstorm hits and snows the boys for Christmas, Niall and Harry are forced to confront their feelings for one another."
> 
> hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it, happy (a bit late) holidays!!

They’ve been at it for nearly three and a half hours, sitting in the uncomfortable seats of the waiting area at the airport. They knew staying back an extra week would complicate the flying part of the trip, but they never thought it would get this bad.

“I’m sorry,” Niall says again, and for the hundredth time Harry sighs, giving him an unamused look.

“You said that already,” he points out, “actually, you’ve said it so many times that every time you say it I think you’re sorry about the last sorry you said.”

“What?” Niall huffs out a laugh at him, “you’re going nuts.”

“Waiting is driving me nuts.”

“Sorry.” Niall repeats. He still can’t help the guilt he feels, knowing if they’d just left when Louis and Liam did they’d already be in L.A, basking in the sun with a cold beer in hand.

“Niall, I swear.” Harry sighs, readjusting his position in the seat. He’s done that at least fifty times, Niall thinks, his butt in the edge of the seat, head against the back of it and his legs all sprawled out in front of him. “I wanted to stay back, too, it wasn’t only you,” he reminds him, rolling his head to the side to look at him, “also, if I had left with them you would’ve have to do this alone, without my charming company, so if I were you I’d take that as a win.”

“Sure,” Niall laughs, turning in his seat to look down at Harry right as Harry closes his eyes and places his hands on top of his stomach. He looks ridiculous Niall thinks, using his bun as a pillow against the seat, warm in the fluffy floral sweatshirt he’s wearing. Niall hasn’t seen him in sweats in ages - he said so this morning when they were finishing their packing back at his house. Harry assured him he’ll change to comfy sweatpants when they’re inside the plane, Niall is looking forward to that.

“Are you falling asleep?” Niall mutters after a while of silence and receives only a grunt as a response. “I’m gonna go ask again about the flight, yeah? Keep an eye on our stuff,” he says as he stands up, stretching his numb limbs, “Haz.”

“I’m up, I’m up.” Harry mumbles, clearly sleepy. “Go on.”

“Don’t fucking fall asleep, my laptop’s in that bag at your feet.”

“Alright,” Harry says, bending down to pick it up to put it in his lap, “all safe now.”

Niall shakes his head at him, smiling nonetheless, and goes to ask again where the hell their flight is.

 

-

 

“So, you’re telling me you and Harry can’t make it,” Louis says, voice sharp over the phone Niall has pressed against his cheek. “Convenient, huh.”

“Lou, we literally spent the entire evening at the airport trying to get into a plane, it’s impossible in this weather.”

“Right,” Louis hums, “So, you decided to stay at yours?”

“I- I actually don’t know, we haven’t gotten to that part yet. Why?”

“It’d be good, wouldn’t it? To spend the holidays at home, cozy and warm. Alone. With Harry,” Louis says, voice taking on a teasing tone that has Niall shaking his head, “you could make a move. Finally... get together.” Niall can feel Louis’ grin over the phone.

“Lou, piss off,” Niall laughs, glancing over to where Harry’s still sitting with their bags, “we wouldn’t even be alone, if we stay at mine. Bobby is there most of the time after the surgery-“

“ _You_ piss off, don’t make excuses. You say that as if Bobby Horan hasn’t been rooting for the two of you to get together since the start,” Louis scoffs, “I’m done with your pining, next time you call me it better be to tell me about the wedding plans. If it’s not for that, don’t even bother,” he warns, and then in a cheerier voice adds, “greetings from Payno! Please use protection. Cheers mate.”

He hangs up with that, leaving Niall staring dumbfounded at the wall in front of him. He pockets his phone and goes over again to his seat where Harry is also on the phone, probably talking to his mum. Niall feels guilty again, suddenly. If Harry doesn’t get in a flight in the next week or so he’ll be spending Christmas with Niall’s family instead of his.  _All our plans always go to shit,_ Liam had said the day they decided to organize their Lads Holiday, but Louis insisted on making some sort of itinerary. Where to stay, for how long, what to bring, who’ll buy all the alcohol. It would have worked alright, if they had left together from London straight to L.A, but Niall hadn’t seen Theo in ages and he refused to send his Christmas gifts via post again; he wanted to hand them to his nephew personally, even if this time it’d be 2 weeks before Christmas.

This part wasn’t planned though, Louis counted on every stupid thing that could go wrong, buying cheap nasty booze, forgetting to bring underwear, even losing their car keys, but not getting stuck at the airport because of a snow storm. How thoughtful.

Now that he thought about it, it wasn’t his fault Harry had decided to tag along. “I haven’t seen the little man and the big man in ages, Niall, I’m going with you,” is what he’d said. Niall thought it was a good idea too. Theo loves Harry, and Bobby does as well - they’d leave together for L.A after some days with Niall's family and then they'd meet up with Louis and Liam on the 16th, chill and get drunk and have fun in their rented cabin in the beach. And that would be it. It  _could_  have been it.

“What did they say?” Harry asks, getting up and placing the strap of his bag over his shoulder. It makes Niall jump a little. He hides it with a cough.

“Uh, well, yeah, talked to Lou, basically he just complained about the money he lost in booze and said next time we’re flying with them, no excuses. You know Louis.”

“Yeah, alright. As if they will let the booze go to waste.” Harry scoffs, making Niall laugh, “Liam would have been nicer about it.”

“That, or he would have repeated everything Louis told him to say.” Niall points out.

“That’s true, too,” Harry says, a lopsided grin on his face, “Do you have Scrabble at yours?”

Niall chuckles, and Harry’s smile grows wide and bright. It’s decided then. Maybe getting snowed in for the holidays won’t be as shitty as it first seemed.

 

-

 

When Bobby sees them struggling through the door with all of their bags in tow, cheeks redder than they were when they first left, the first thing he does is laugh. “Did you figure out Ireland’s better for the hols than Los Angeles, then?”

Harry smiles, drops his bags and goes over to pat Bobby in the back as if it’s been a long time since he last saw him. “You know how it is,” Harry says, sitting beside the man on the sofa, making himself at home, “going for the winter wonderland kind of holiday.”

“It’s way too excessive, all this snow,” Niall huffs from the doorway, taking his jacket and shoes off, “even for Christmas. Not necessary.”

He hears a gasp coming from Harry, a grin already making its way to Niall’s face, “How dare you, Niall!” His dad laughs too; Harry is too much sometimes, really. “It’s never too much snow, we could have so much fun out there, just need proper clothes for it.”

“No offense,” Niall says, making his way towards the sofa too and plopping down on it - despite all the hours spent sitting at the airport, it feels good to sit again, “it’ll be good to spend Christmas with the family again, but this weather be damned. I’d rather be in L.A. with a pint and the sun and the lads.”

“I disagree, we’ll have a good time here,” Harry frowns, looking at Bobby for support. Bobby just looks amused.

“Your good time involves Scrabble, doesn’t it?” Bobby asks. Niall sighs to himself.

Harry pouts a bit, thinking before he answers, “Well, it’s a good game to play! Cures boredom, we can all play it, and you must have one here, right? The sun and the pints and the lads are all good, but Scrabble will do for us humble lads.”

Bobby looks so close to losing it, and Niall snorts and ducks his head, never quite tired of Harry’s oddness.

“We do have an old box upstairs, in Greg’s room,” Bobby finally manages, much to Harry’s delight, “could get the kettle on and play a round or two, see how it goes.”

Harry is looking smug at Niall now, and the grin stays on his face as he pulls himself up and hurries to find the game.

Bobby laughs when Harry leaves the room, “He’s something else, that boy.” He says to Niall, “it’ll be interesting to have him around, for more than a week. The last time you both did that was years ago, wasn’t it?”

“It was,” Niall nods, “before the X Factor. Back in 2010, jesus,” Niall shakes his head in disbelief. Then, he looks over at Bobby and raises an eyebrow. “We can make him do the washing, he’s good at that.”

“Don’t be like that, you like having him here too,” Bobby scolds, with that tone Niall knows leaves no room to fight. “He’s good to you for more than laundry. It’ll be a change, a good one, so you don’t lose your mind with all the family you’ll see in the next week.”

“No, I know, he’s great to have around,” Niall gives in, “it’s always a laugh, it was just a bit of an unexpected change of plans.”

He shrugs, playing with a loose thread on the couch arm. He feels Bobby shift beside him.

“So, you still haven’t figured it out?”

“Dad!” Niall whines, throwing his head to the back of the sofa and covering his face with his hands. “He’s right here, don’t do that.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Bobby says, but his voice is more hushed when he speaks again, “I reckon you’ll get it right soon. A Christmas miracle.”

“You’re saying that as if getting my shit together requires a miracle, Da,” he huffs, shaking his head, “it’s not easy as you think.”

“I don’t think it’s easy,” Bobby replies, “getting Maura to say yes to our first date took me 4 years of high school.” He lets out a rough laugh. Niall knows that story too well. “Now, I’m not with you lads very much, but when I see you and him together it always seems so simple, y’know? You laugh and mess about as if you have your whole lives figured out. Together.”

Niall stays silent for a bit, mulling this over. His dad does sort of have a point, but at the same time it’s different, looking from the outside in. You miss the little subtle complications. Still, after a moment he gives his dad a warm smile and squeezes his arm. “Look at us, Da, we’re proper Irish men talking about feelings.” He chuckles. Then, eager for a change in topic, looks around. “What’s taking Harry so long anyway?”

“Better go check on your boy, you’re dying to.”

“I swear you’re worse than Louis sometimes.” Niall groans, standing up from the sofa with a huff.

It’ll be a long Christmas.

 

-

 

Turns out Harry did find the Scrabble box, but along with that he also found a bunch of photo albums from Greg and Niall’s childhood that Bobby keeps in Greg’s unused room. He convinces Niall to let him bring it downstairs and then there they are, around the small table of the dining room with a bunch of photos scattered everywhere, each with a cup of warm tea and a plate of Tesco’s Christmas biscuits.

“Niall was ten when this picture was taken,” Bobby muses, “right after the Oliver musical.” He sounds far too proud. If Niall wasn’t so embarrassed he’d be fond of it too.

“Look at his flushed cheeks,” Harry says, pointing at another picture, taking it in his hands. One from a Christmas musical he did when he was eight with some mates from the choir. “He’s so small, look! The other kid is twice his height.”

“He was also twice my age,” Niall butts in, plucking the picture from Harry’s hand, “Why did you keep all these? I hope you’ve not shown this around every chance you get.”

“How could I throw them away? I have to show them to whoever you marry.” Bobby replies, raising his eyebrows and throwing a look at Harry when the younger boy gets distracted with another picture. Niall stares, wide-eyed at his dad, before Harry speaks and tears his attention away from how embarrassing his father is being.

“This is gold, I didn’t know you had these ones too!” Harry exclaims, opening another album that seems to have less pictures that the others. Niall recognizes it right away.

It’s a somewhat small album, nothing too extravagant. There’s just a small quote on the cover: “ _Never let your greatest memories go.”_ Niall remembers buying the album years ago, after the X Factor final when he came back home to pack up the rest of his things for London. While he was going through his stuff, he found the small camera tucked away in one of the drawers of his desk. He didn’t even have to check the pictures to know what they were from, who they were of. He just went and got them printed right away, arranged them in the small album. That was the same day he told his dad about his crush on Harry, the same day he came out to his Da and Greg and Denise. The first time he allowed himself to admit Harry meant something more to him than the rest of the lads, or that what he felt for Harry was different. He had still been so confused at the time.

Bobby had taken it in his stride. He’d helped reassure Niall that things would be okay – that he would be okay. He’d told him he’d keep the album with the rest of them, make sure it stayed safe. Niall had felt a bit ridiculous, a bit embarrassed, that he’d wanted so badly to save the pictures of Harry’s first visit to Mullingar along with family pictures and wedding albums, but his dad just kissed his forehead in a way he hadn’t done since he was small and told him it’d work out, it’d be alright.

Niall’s cheeks turn pink when he sees Harry smiling and actually remembering everything they did that time. It feels good to know those memories didn’t only stick to him.

“We look ridiculous, Niall, look at this! You made me wear that thing, and- oh my god, why do you have this photos printed? This is great.” He’s grinning wide, shaking his head as he goes to another page.

“I got them printed ages ago, don’t even know,” Niall shrugs, ducking his head down under the pretense of grabbing a cookie when his dad turns to look at him.

“This is amazing, you have to lend this to me so I can, I don’t know, scan them? I have to have them too, not fair you had this hidden from me,” Harry looks up at him, eyes bright and eager. It makes Niall’s heart squeeze.

“It’s not that big of a deal, just a bunch of silly pics,” he insists, shaking away the sad smile his dad throws his way.

“Yeah, they’re silly as fuck but, I thought we’d lost them,” Harry looks back at the album, expression going softer. “I don’t know, it’s been so long, hasn’t it? I only have a couple, the ones I took with my phone. This is the real treasure here.” He flips through to the end, and by the time his eyes find Niall’s again, he looks so happy that Niall can’t help but smile back, a blush spreading hot over his cheeks and neck.

“Yeah,” he says, trying to keep his tone casual, “we made quite the memories, didn’t we?”

“We really fucking did.” Harry nods, closing the album carefully and sitting back against the chair. He’s still grinning, rests his hand on top of the little book like he’s not quite ready to let go. “That was good. A good trip down memory lane.”

“It was,” Bobby nods. There’s a brief stretch of silence, in which Niall shifts uncomfortably before Bobby speaks up again, looking to Harry. “Would you mind getting some more tea? Mine has gone all cold.”

Harry does, of course. Takes his, Niall and Bobby’s cups in a precarious way to the kitchen, leaving Niall with Bobby, again. He knows what’s coming.

“You don’t have to sell yourself short, son,” Bobby says quietly, looking at Niall with an intensity that does nothing to help the pink in his cheeks go down. “It clearly means a lot to him, too. There’s something there. Lurking around. It’s not all as one sided as you’ve made it seem, Niall. It truly never has been.”

Niall doesn’t get the chance to reply before Harry comes back, this time carrying the cups in a tray he must have found in one of the cupboards.

He sets them down at each of their places on the table as if he’s some sort of high class waiter, putting up quite the act and getting a chuckle out of Bobby, “There’s no one as posh and British as you, is there?” he asks.

Harry laughs at that, shaking his head.

 “He takes pride in that,” Niall grins.

“You’ve made a joke out of me,” Harry tries to whine, but the amused smile on his face gives him away. Niall can’t help but laugh harder, at that, and soon Harry joins in, taking his place at the table once more.

After they’ve calmed down, and all the photos are tucked back away, Harry raises his eyebrows at them, “Up for some Scrabble then?”

Niall groans.

“He’s gonna end us all with this game, isn’t he.” Bobby says, watching as Harry sets the board up and makes sure all the pieces are in the bag.

“That’s what I’m here for!” Harry replies jovially. Niall smiles, at that. He can’t help but think of his dad’s words from earlier; it’s so easy, to bask in Harry’s attention and company, his silly jokes and his entire persona. It’s so easy to laugh. So easy to just be with him. The only thing Niall hasn’t found easy so far is explaining the feelings that have been festering in his chest since the first time he brought Harry home.

 

-

 

“You are staying over here, right, Harry?” Bobby asks at breakfast the next day. The wind is growing harsher, rattling at the windows and dusting them white with snow. “Greg and the family aren’t coming over until after St. Stephen’s Day, so you can take his room for however long you’d like.”

“That’d be great, Bobby, thank you so much,” Harry nods, and then smiles, raising an eyebrow, “hope you let me help around this time though. You’re meant to be on bed rest, but I’ve seen you moving around more than I’ve seen Niall.”

“Hey! –“ Niall interjects, but Bobby speaks smoothly over him.

“Medical leave is just, useless. I feel okay to work,” he insists, pulling himself up from the chair. His hip surgery only left him a bit slower than usual, but he’s the same active, energetic man Niall’s used to seeing every time he comes home.

“I’ll do the dishes, Da, just go back to bed,” Niall starts, standing along with him.

“Oh, you  _are_  doing the dishes,” Bobby shoots him a grin, “not stopping you at all. Just gonna make some hot chocolate, it’s proper freezing, even inside.”

Harry laughs at Niall’s stunned expression before his face brightens up completely. “Oh, my mum and I tried a bunch of hot chocolate recipes last December. I can make you my favourite, it’s great!”

Bobby looks a bit unsure, Niall can tell even as he moves to the sink, but he nods nonetheless. Apparently Niall’s not the only one who has difficulty giving in to Harry’s excitement.

 “Make enough for all of us, then. Thank you, Harry.” Bobby gives him a nod, lowering himself back into his seat.

Harry knows his way around the kitchen well enough for Niall to leave him alone once he’s done with the dishes, so he wanders back to the sofa to watch the commentary on the latest Derby match.

Harry comes back after about half an hour, carrying three steaming mugs of hot chocolate in a tray. He passes one to Niall and one to Bobby before sitting by Niall’s side on the couch. Niall looks down his mug, rich with chocolate and brimming over with giant marshmallows that almost fall off of it.

“Did you raid our kitchen for this?” he asks, though he can’t pretend he’s not intrigued.

“Well,” Harry says, taking a sip from his mug before continuing, “I looked around, found some things that made this quite interesting and went for it.”

“Things such as….cheese?” Bobby asks, chewing.

“Yeah, just a bit, I cut it in little squares, they make it really tasty when they start kind of melting!” He looks damn so proud that Niall can’t deny drinking at least a sip of it. “Also, cookies, marshmallows, a pinch of peanut butter –“

“No whipped cream?”

“The bottle I found was expired so I decided it was better not to.”

“It’s good that you didn’t,” Bobby agrees, slowly, peering into his mug, “it’s so sweet… it’s a wonder you haven’t blacked out from drinking so much.”

It’s then that Niall realizes Harry’s mug is half empty. Niall’s only taken a couple sips and his throat is already kind of burning, like that time he had too much candy floss and it felt like all the sugar was sticking to his esophagus. He lets the mug down on the table, reaching to squeeze Harry’s knee so he doesn’t get offended.

“Haz, this is really too fucking sweet.” Niall says, frowning, “how much sugar did you even put on this?”

“It’s not that bad!” Harry fights, pouting before taking another, begrudging sip.

“Look at your face, you don’t even like it either!” Niall laughs quietly, shaking his head, “c’mon now, don’t finish it, you’ll make yourself sick. We can go down to Tesco before the blizzard gets worse, grab the right things a good hot chocolate needs and I’ll show you how is done.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Bobby offers, “use Maura’s recipe. It’ll keep you warm.”

Harry finally accepts that his hot chocolate is fated for the drain, letting Niall tug him off the couch and accepting Bobby’s offer to lend him his big, puffy jacket so they might make it to Tesco alive.

 

-

 

“Okay. We’ve got cocoa powder, milk, whipped cream… that’s important,“ Harry lists everything off as he removes it from the shopping bags, “Irish whiskey, vanilla, chocolate shavings and candy canes.” Niall looks everything over, nodding approvingly.

“Looks good,” he decides, reaching for the cocoa, “let’s get started.”

It’s Niall who leads them through the whole process, though Harry does his best to distract him; Niall nearly spills the cocoa across the counter when Harry pulls on one of Niall’s mum’s old aprons and flounces around in it. It’s so small on him that it doesn’t even reach his knees, Niall can’t help but burst into laughter every time he turns around and sees him in the awful thing. But somehow, they manage to get everything put together quite nicely. Even if Niall’s beginning to doubt Harry ever had any merit as a baker by the end of it.

 

“No, you’ve got to whip it softly!” he insists, as Harry whisks their concoction around the pot so fast that droplets of chocolate splatter onto the stovetop, “if it had to be done that fast I’d put it on the blender, try slower.” He’s sure he’s repeating the words his mum used to say to him when she first taught him, Niall learning clumsily, too eager to get it all done and get to drink it while it was still steaming hot.

“Makes my wrist hurt,” Harry mumbles, jutting his bottom lip out. He’s absolutely hopeless, clearly trying for the sympathy vote now.

“You’re a mess.” Niall takes over for him after a while, keeping an eye on Harry prepping up the glasses to serve it. “We just have to warm it up for a bit longer, you can add just a few drops of vanilla, if you’re up for it.”

He trusts Harry enough to do that, at least, and goes to open the Baileys bottle. He pours some on each of the mugs Harry set on top of a tray, shuffling back to the stove once he’s finished to oversee the final preparation.

When the chocolate is hot enough and the texture is as close to Maura’s as Niall thinks it’ll ever get, they carefully serve it into the mugs, Harry looks satisfied enough with the result, but when Niall reaches to take a mug for himself Harry stops him, raising an eyebrow.

“You don’t suppose we’ll just drink it like that, do you?”

He looks so serious asking that it actually makes Niall wonder if maybe they forgot an essential ingredient. “What do you mean?”

“We didn’t buy the marshmallows and candy canes for nothing, Ni! Come on, give me that,” he carefully extracts Niall’s mug from his hands, ignoring the way Niall reaches after it, “I’ll be right back, gonna decorate them, just a bit.”

“Just don’t add any sugar,” Niall finally relents.

“I  _got_  it, Niall. Damn it.”

 

 

When he comes back to the living room with the mugs and two tiny spoons on the tray the only thing Niall manages to say is a small, “ _woah”._

Because really, Harry clearly took his time and effort into making two simple mugs of hot chocolate look so – pretty, Christmassy. They look so nice Niall doesn’t even want to stick his spoon inside and destroy Harry’s work.

Each mug is filled to the brim with hot chocolate, topped with a spoonful of whipped cream and the tiniest marshmallows Niall has ever seen. There are chocolate shavings spread atop the cream and small pieces of candy cane along with it. There’s a whole candy cane, too, stuck inside the mug, tilted over to the side so it looks like a straw.

Niall is practically salivating. It smells so good, sweet and creamy, with the tint of liquor somewhere in there. His first spoonful burns his tongue a little, but it tastes as good as he remembers his mum’s being. If not better, though he’d never admit that to her.

When Niall finishes the last drop and sighs in contentment, he looks over to find Harry watching him with a lop-sided smile. He frowns, reaching to rub at the corner of his mouth.

“What? Do I – Do I have some of it on my face? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You have a bit of a mustache.” Harry replies, his smile stretching wide, leaning towards Niall and wiping his upper lip off with his own thumb. “There you go.”

“I – Thanks, I suppose.” Niall stammers, he feels a bit dizzy, having Harry so close to him, still smiling both with his mouth and the light in his eyes. He can feel a blush start up the back of his neck, the heat blossoming in his cheeks.

“It’s alright. It was really tasty, you have to let me steal you the recipe.” Harry finally leans back in his chair, and Niall takes a deep breath, willing the colour in his face to fade. “Shall we bake some cookies too? We got the stuff for that.”

Niall nods again, grabbing a napkin from the tray Harry had and bringing it up to his face, dabbing at his mouth, “go ahead.”

“What do you mean go ahead, I helped you make the chocolate your way, now we’re baking this cookies my way,” Harry insists, pulling himself up and tugging at Niall’s arm until he finally stands again, following him back into the kitchen.

This time, Harry talks Niall through it all, making idle conversation while they mix everything they need and wait for the oven to heat. As they finish shaping up the cookies with the Christmas molds, Niall sneaks a bit of the dough and pops it in his mouth, raising his eyebrows and looking over at Harry in excitement. “You’re really good at this, these are delicious!”

“I know!” Harry beams, “the secret is to make them with –“ His expression suddenly changes, a dawn of realization settling over his features. “Hey! What do you mean - ? You already tasted them?” he asks, turning around to look at Niall with wide eyes, “you’re not supposed to eat the dough Niall!” he scolds, but Niall can see the laugh threatening at his lips, so he just grins and takes another piece. Harry does his best to scowl, sliding the last sheet of cookies into the oven.

“You’re going to pay for that, Horan,” he warns. Niall raises an eyebrow.

“How, exactly?”

Harry shrugs, stepping back over to the counter and starting to gather things up. Niall eyes him suspiciously for a moment, but goes to fill the sink, distinctly less excited about the prospect of washing all their dishes.

That’s when the first handful of flour goes flying.

“Like that!” Harry exclaims as it lands against Niall’s cheek. Before he can react, Harry leans to smatter the rest over his chest, pushing Niall’s hands out of the way when he goes to defend himself. “If you end up with a tummy ache you better don’t blame it on me or my cookies!” He’s laughing, now, as Niall scrambles back, grabbing more leftover flour and trying to shove it down Niall’s shirt.

“Alright!” Niall shrieks, jumping away from Harry’s flour covered hands and struggling to brush off the powder covering his sweater, “I get it! But I _am_ blaming you for this bloody mess!” He dodges Harry’s outstretched arms and darts around him, grabbing his own handful of flour and aiming for the top of Harry’s head.

The fight intensifies after that. The kitchen’s floor is quickly covered in flour, to the point that Niall actually slips and falls. He does his best to stop the inevitable, grabbing at Harry for balance by the strings of his apron, but he still ends up right on his bum with a muted _thud_. Harry tumbles ungracefully on top of him. For a moment, all is silent. Then, Harry bursts into laughter, slumping against Niall and ducking his head to his shoulder, his forehead pressed to his neck. Niall laughs breathlessly, shoving uselessly at him before giving up and falling the rest of the way back, unable to catch his breath. They’re completely covered in flour, and by the time Niall manages to calm down his face is streaked with tears of mirth. Harry finally rolls off of him, though he makes no move to pull himself up, looking Niall over instead. “You’re all red,” Harry giggles when he turns to look at him, “all red and white from the powder.”

“Like a candy cane,” Niall laughs, and Harry snorts beside him so hard it sends a puff of flour into the air. Niall dissolves into another fit of hysterics, rolling onto his side to clutch at his stomach. Harry looks down at him with the biggest and fondest smile, and suddenly Niall realizes how close they are – how he’s practically curled into Harry’s side. How, if Bobby wouldn’t have appeared in the kitchen right at that moment, Niall could have reached out and kissed him.

 

-

 

Niall’s curled up on the sofa, a fluffy and thick blanket wrapped around his shoulders, watching a re-run of Love/Hate. He just finished making sure Bobby was properly bundled in bed despite his protests, ensuring his hips don’t hurt and his back’s comfortable, giving him the newspaper to read. He still doesn’t understand why Bobby refuses to look at the news online like Niall’s tried to teach him – he always claims it’s _not the same experience_ , and nothing Niall argues ever makes him budge.

As far as he knows, Harry’s napping. In Niall’s bed, of course, because he’s invasive and apparently it’s comfier than Greg’s old one. He sort of just kipped out, and Niall made a half-assed attempt to cover him in blankets before shuffling off to the couch. He’s fairly content, now, too comfy to get up and do anything else, but he can’t quite shake the cold that’s settled into his bones. That’s how Harry finds him awhile later: shivering a little and shifting around to try and get warm, frowning at the TV.

“Seems like the storm finally hit,” Harry speaks before he appears, startling Niall from his show, “was watching the news upstairs with Bobby just now and it’s really bad, like, windy and snowy outside.” He sighs wandering into the room and looking around, “should we turn up the heat a notch more? Wouldn’t do any harm.” He blows onto his hands, rubbing them.

“So he’ll watch the news on the telly but he won’t look it up on his laptop. Typical,” Niall groans, shifting over a bit to make room for Harry and shaking his head when he asks about the heat. “Did that already. It’s like, full blast right now. It’s shoddy.”

“Jesus,” Harry hisses, sitting beside Niall and covering his pajama clad legs with one of Niall’s blankets, “we might as well be outside, that’s what it feels like. Doesn’t it?” Niall laughs humourlessly at that, thoroughly tired of the temperature. They sit in silence, for a bit, Niall pretending to watch what’s happening on the screen. Mostly, though, he’s just cold. He glances over at Harry, noticing the way he’s curled around himself in just his teal shirt.

“You gonna join me, then?” he asks, lifting his arm to make a space for Harry under the blanket. Harry doesn’t bother with a reply, he just buries himself by Niall’s side in his cocoon of blankets and cuddles up to him, his arms around him. It’s much closer than they need to be if Niall has any say on it, but he doesn’t have the heart to protest, securing the blankets back around them both.

“Better,” Harry mumbles.

Niall smiles, settling carefully into the close embrace.

“Don’t think we should invite Bobby in? Three’d be warmer than two.”

“We’re quite alright here, though,” Harry replies, a huge dopey smile on his face. He laughs softly when Niall replies “we are, yeah.”

Finally with a reprieve from the cold, Niall feels his eyelids grow heavy. He curls into Harry more, preparing to give in to sleep, when Harry shifts a little, disturbing him from the moment of peace.

“What if we built a blanket fort?” Harry asks, putting his free hand around Niall’s knee and squeezing gently. It feels nice, more so because the cold always makes it go stiff and sore. Niall chuckles, but doesn’t say anything for a couple seconds, blinking slowly at the T.V until he feels Harry’s heavy gaze at his side.

“What, are you serious?” he finally looks over at him, furrowing his brow.

“Of course I am!” Harry replies with mock offence. “Niall, c’mon, it’s a good idea. We’ll get all the pillows and blankets and protect ourselves from the cold. In the right way. We can build it in Greg’s room.”

Niall’s not sure how well that will work, but he can’t really think of anything better to do. And he hasn’t built a blanket fort in a while.

“Can’t be that bad,” he says, considering, “we can join our mattresses or something, so we don’t have to sleep right on the floor…”

Harry grins.

“Like a proper sleepover.”

And it’s silly and childish, but if Louis and Liam get to go off and enjoy the sun. Well. Niall thinks he and Harry deserve a blanket fort.

It takes them a good two hours, to get both mattresses settled well enough in Greg’s room in a way that neither of them will bang their head with something nearby. They hunt down all the blankets in the house and use a couple chairs and the edge of the bed to hold them up. It works out quite well at the end; they even manage to get Niall’s T.V inside, and a couple of his lamps for when it gets dark.

Niall can already imagine the laugh Bobby will have when he sees this.

“This is absolutely amazing.” Harry breaths, getting his phone out to take a picture of their masterpiece.

“Are you instagraming that?” Niall reaches to fix a corner, glancing around to make sure everything else is secure.

“Nope. Gonna send it to Lou and Liam so they can see our snowed in shenanigans.”

Niall nods in approval, stepping closer to Harry as he sends the photo off. The reply comes rather quickly.

_Still winning_  it says, with a picture attached. A vast beach, two fancy glasses of some colorful cocktail and the sun shining bright through the palm trees. It makes Niall scoff. “They don’t know what they’re missing,” he decides. Later, when he posts his own picture of their masterpiece on Instagram, Louis and Liam like it almost immediately.

 

-

 

“When are you putting up all the decorations?” Harry asks a few days after, on the 20th, when the storms died down and all that’s left are snow drifts and foggy white windows. “You do put some decorations up, right?”

“We do,” Bobby replies, “I never bother with much other than the tree and a bit of tinsel with some lights, so we don’t have much. Unless Theo is coming over there’s not much I put around.”

“We usually spend it at Greg’s, since Theo was born, because they go out of their way to make the house look like Santa’s workshop or something.” Niall explains, “We could help you out this time, Da, I won’t have ya putting up tinsel with that tiny ladder you have around.”

“Sure, okay,” Bobby agrees, far too easily in Niall’s opinion, “If you want to spend the day organizing it all, I won’t fight you on it.” He stands up slowly from the chair he was sat in, Niall fights the urge to help him out, because it’ll only make him grumpy for the rest of the day.

“We’ll get on it after we make some hot chocolate, Bobby, you want some?” Harry offers. He’s become quite good at Maura’s version of the drink over the past few days.

Bobby nods.

“Now you’ve finally figured it out, I’ll have a taste.”

Niall smirks over at Harry’s offended expression, but hurries to follow him into the kitchen when he sets off to make it.

 

-

 

“So,” Harry says, hands firm on his hips, a bit of sweat glistering against his neck and forehead. “We have everything out, now, should we rest for at least an hour or just do it now and get it out of the way?”

“You sounded way more excited about all this when you offered to help,” Niall points out, looking up at Harry expectantly, “why is that?”

“You failed to mention that all your Christmas stuff was in the basement, for one,” Harry points an accusing finger at him, raising an eyebrow, “covered in spider webs and dust. _So_ much dust, Niall. I can’t breathe any more, my lungs are full of it.” He huffs, flopping down on an old chair Niall can only just recall from his childhood, “And everything is so mixed up, you have the fairy lights tangled in the same box with the tinsel and some other shit,” he gestures to the offending decorations, leaning his head back dramatically. Niall is trying really hard not to let out a laugh. “We haven’t even found the star for the top of the tree. How do you lose that?”

“Must be upstairs. We have more boxes up there,” Niall grins.

“You’re saying there’s  _more_?” Harry squeaks, staring at him incredulously. Niall shrugs. Harry groans and pulls himself back to his feet, reaching for the nearest box. “I’m gonna start setting this all up, whatever’s inside this box, you get the rest.”

“Aye aye captain.” Niall mocks, slapping Harry’s bum as he passes behind him. Harry kicks weakly at him before disappearing through the door leading back upstairs. Once he’s gone, Niall lets out a breath, turning back to the rest of the boxes. Finally. It seems like if Harry’s not insisting on doing Christmas activities, his dad is giving him another lecture, either about Harry or about how he should stop coddling him so much. The quiet feels good, despite the cold, damp air that surrounds him. He almost doesn’t mind staying down here for a while.

He starts rummaging around a box that’s half open, wary about finding all kinds of bugs inside. It’s the oldest box they have, it seems. It’s all torn apart on one side, and it has Niall’s scrawny and messy handwriting on top. It’s smudged, but he can still work out the  _lights, balls n’ pillows_ he wrote there, years ago, back when his mum and dad were still together. When the process of decorating the house was a huge deal, when his mum went off with all the tinsel and the lights, and the tree was full of all kind of decorations, and they had pillows and blankets to put on the sofas. The box holds all the old stuff they stopped putting out when his mum started coming less and less for Christmas time, when Niall left and Greg moved out and Theo was born. And there didn’t seem to be much point any more if only his Da would see it.

“Did you fall asleep down there?” Harry’s voice distracts him from his thoughts. When Niall looks up, he finds him leaning against the staircase, watching him with kind eyes and a small smile.

“How long have you been standin’ there?” Niall asks, pulling himself up from the floor. He runs the back of his hand across his forehead before grabbing the box and joining Harry up the stairs. The dust is truly awful.

“Doesn’t matter.” Harry replies, “How long have you been tripping down memory lane?”

Niall doesn’t reply. Not out loud at least.  _Since you got here, it seems._  It’s what he wants to say, but instead he just gives Harry a smile and a breathy laugh struggling past him with the collection of decorations. Once they’ve got everything up from the basement, Niall heads back to Greg’s room to get the small boxes that have the newest decorations. By the time he returns to the living room, Harry already had the tree set up and it’s trying –  _trying –_ to untangle all the lights.

While he struggles with that, Niall sets about unpacking the Christmas balls and decorative tinsel and other bits and pieces for the tree, hanging things carefully on the branches.

“Don’t you think….don’t you think it would be easier to just buy new lights?” Harry asks after a couple minutes. He’s managed to get less than a half of the fairy lights untangled so far; in fact, he’s half tangled in them himself. “Just, look at this, it’s impossible.”

It’s a pathetic sight for sure, but Niall’s not about to waste perfectly good lights just because of a few knots.

“Don’t be dramatic, Haz, c’mon. Y’know what? I’m gonna get two pints, get some Christmas music on, set the atmosphere just right and we’ll get this done in no time, you’ll see.” Niall doesn’t wait for a reply, he just goes over to the kitchen, grabs two beers from the fridge and gives one to Harry. Harry looks it over.

 

“Great. Cold beer for cold weather, why not,” is the only thanks Niall gets, but he’s too busy putting on Buble’s Christmas album to care.

They finally fall into a good rhythm of decorating. By the time they’re done, it’s late in the evening, but Niall thinks all the hours spent untangling decorations, fluffing up pillows, hunting down the star on top of tree and tangling way too much tinsel around the banister were worth it.

The house looks decorated in a way Niall hasn’t seen in years. The trees, the boots on top of the chimney, the tinsel around on every surface. They even used the Christmas table cloth his grandma gave them years ago. There are lights on the bay windows in the living room. It’s proper lit up, the whole place, and Niall is so happy to see it like that after so many years that, once they’ve put the last ball up on the tree, he wraps his arms around Harry and hugs him. Harry doesn’t question it - he never really does. He just rubs his back and cuddles into him when Niall mutters a  _thank you_  against his the warmth of his neck.

 

-

 

On the 23th they are finally able to get out of the house. Bobby wakes Niall up softly, careful to not disturb Harry who’s all sprawled out beside him, and tells him he’s going by himself to do some grocery shopping. Niall can’t really fight him on that when he sees he’s already dressed, ready and determined. He hears him leave a couple of minutes after.

Harry makes a funny noise in his sleep, then, and Niall turns to look at him with a smile. He’s still deeply asleep, his cheeks flushed from being so warm inside their fort. He looks so young, though that’s not quite a revelation in itself; they used to sleep in the same bed more often than not on tour, sharing hotel rooms every now and then, and every time Niall woke up before him he’d notice the softness of his features, the way Harry’s still barely more than a boy.

After a moment, he reaches to play with Harry’s dark curls where they’ve splayed across his pillow. His hair’s gotten so long, but Harry always manages to keep it pretty and soft. Niall loves to compliment him on it, loves to see Harry smile bright at him, loves when Harry gets cheeky about it and waves his hair around like he’s in a Pantene commercial. He just loves him a lot. And that always hits Niall so hard, it always leaves him a bit breathless.

It’s always at the most random moments. In whatever city, through different schedules and different crowds, in a constant state of change, this is what Niall clings to. Waking up to have tea with the same people, with Harry sat beside him, his hair in a bun, eyes still heavy with sleep, movements slow, as if he’s still just waking up. It’s all so familiar, makes him feel at home despite being across the world from Mullingar.

He hardly even remembers a time when he didn’t love Harry, when the One Direction madness wasn’t present, when four boys weren’t taking up so much space in his heart and in his life. He hardly remembers a time when Harry wasn’t there in everything they did, the pranks, the jokes… the days spent just between them, a guitar, a notepad and a pen. Sometimes writing songs, sometimes playing noughts and crosses for hours until they forgot how many they’d won or lost.

Niall loves him so much, and he always tells him so, whether with the words themselves or with a secret smile after cracking one of their stupid inside jokes, or doing something silly onstage. Sometimes, though, it feels like it’s not enough. Like right now, with Harry so close to him, with the air so still and calm. He wishes he could do it differently. Wake him up with kisses and careful nibbles across his skin. Cuddle up to him and make a home in the crook of his neck. Stay the whole morning there, warm and close, exchanging mumbled words and sloppy kisses until they finally get up.

But he can’t do that. Not now, anyway. Not yet. Not until he decides to say  _fuck it_ and go for it, until he realizes how tired he is of hiding his heart away. Not until he can tell Harry how he feels, how he’s always felt. No; for now, he settles with grabbing the blankets that Harry stole in his sleep, pulling them up to his chin, and curling back close in the hope that sleep will find him.

 

-

 

“What about hitting some pubs today?” Harry asks. It’s almost night, now, and they’re still home alone, lazing about, eating leftovers and watching overrated Christmas movies. “Better do it today, right? So we’re not all hung over on Christmas morning. Have to do it while we’re here, don’t we?”

Niall raises an eyebrow, somewhat surprised by the preposition.

“You sure you’re in for that? We’d have to walk to town, you know, no driving if we’re getting smashed.”

Harry shrugs, running a hand through his hair.

“It’s not _that_ bad, now! Besides, once we’re drunk we won’t feel a thing.”

Niall shakes his head, but he agrees easily enough, leaves a note so his dad doesn’t worry when he gets back to an empty house. They bundle up in their jackets and scarves, and Niall manages to dig up a spare pair of mitts for Harry that aren’t too threadbare.

He takes Harry to the pub he always visits when he’s home. It’s not hard to lose track of time in there, chatting to old friends, joking with the bartender. As usual, the atmosphere is warm and welcoming – it’s just another extension of home to him, really. He eventually loses track of Harry, too busy catching up with some mates, but he doesn’t think much of it. He’s used to him disappearing, used to finding him with the weirdest group of people, drunk out of his mind, a couple hours after.

This time, though, it only takes him about thirty minutes to find him. Half the pub’s gathered around to have a sort of drunken dance competition, and Niall’s fully prepared to toss in with his signature jig when he feels a warm body press against him from behind. He nearly drops his beer, whipping around in surprise. He’s relieved to find that it’s only Harry. Proper smashed Harry, but only Harry. And, because it’s Harry, Niall doesn’t tell him off when he keeps wildly dancing all over him, doesn’t resist when he grabs his hand and tugs him off to a less populated corner of the pub, doesn’t stop him when he not so gently grabs Niall by the waist and pulls him close.

It’s a bit of a lost cause to try and stop after that. Niall has wanted this, dreamed about this and craved it for so long. He gulps the last of his drink down and sets it on a table, and just lets himself go. Harry grinds into him, and Niall groans, pressing closer and thanking his lucky stars that the sound was lost to the din of the pub. He doesn’t know what this is, if it’s some misguided Harry friendliness or… something  _more._

“You look, like, really good, Ni,” Harry slurs, eventually, breath hot against Niall’s ear. Niall’s lost track of time, lost track of everything but the feeling of Harry against him, “and you’re a really good dancer. Like, real good.” He keeps talking, though Niall doesn’t catch everything he’s saying. He just knows it’s gotten too hot, and his calves and the bottom of his feet ache in a distant, fuzzy way. And that he can’t take another second of this without making a complete fool of himself.

“Thanks, H,” he mumbles, leaning to try and make himself heard over the music, “think we should go home, yeah? Gotta walk back.”

“Nooo,” Harry whines, “let’s take a taxi, my legs are gone. Don’t feel ‘em.” He presses impossibly closer, leaning his weight into Niall.

“Of course you don’t feel them, c’mon,” Niall replies, stumbling back a little and grabbing at Harry’s arm, “let’s get outside, yeah, help out a little.”

“Carry me,” Harry pouts, straightening up and looking at Niall, “princess style, yeah? Niall, please.”

“I am not carrying you out outside, Haz,” Niall rolls his eyes, tugging him along. Harry goes easy, of course, only stumbles a little as they collect their jackets and return to the cold.

It takes them a while to get a cab, Harry mumbling on about how cold it is and how nice the pub was and how much he loves Christmas until one finally pulls up. Niall makes sure Harry gets in before sliding next to him, trying his best to speak clearly when he gives his address. Harry curls into him despite Niall’s protests that he put a seatbelt on, and they spend the entire ride back tangled clumsily around each other, Niall petting Harry’s hair uselessly and giving him reassurance when he complains that he feels ill.

He makes Harry drink almost 4 glasses of water when they are finally home, and one more after he throws up. Harry looks absolutely pathetic once he’s done gagging into the toilet, but Niall can’t bring himself to laugh. He helps him brush his teeth, since Harry insists, and then leads him to their fort and watches him crawl inside.

“I’m not gonna sleep in our fort alone, Ni,” Harry’s whining again, wiggling around to look at him with wide, beseeching eyes, “I promise not to throw up on you during the night, yeah?” He’s awfully cute, Niall thinks, his eyes still glassy, defiant like he’s daring him to say no.

“Fine,” Niall mumbles, cursing himself for his lack of self control. He helps Harry out of his jeans and crawls in beside him. Once they’re settled, he threads his fingers back through Harry’s hair, playing with it oh so carefully. His eyes feel heavy and tired, so he lets them fall closed. Harry’s quiet for so long that Niall’s sure he’s already asleep - that’s why he jumps a little when he feels Harry’s hand running softly down his cheek, trailing along to his neck and curling against his heated skin. The touch is too gentle and careful, too deliberate, and Niall slowly opens his eyes, telling himself Harry’s just being playful in the midst of his drunkenness. He finds the other boy curled uncomfortably close.

“I’m sober, I swear,” Harry whispers; Niall’s uncertainty must be clear in his eyes. Despite the darkness that envelops them inside the fort, Niall can feel Harry’s gaze upon him, like he’s waiting for Niall to reply to a question he hasn’t asked aloud. Niall is truly confused.

“You can’t be sober after all the shit you drank,” he finally mutters, frowning when Harry smiles at him, his thumb is caressing the sensitive skin behind Niall’s ear. He’s being so tender, and Niall wishes he knew what was going on – wishes he could let himself enjoy it.

 “What are you doing?” He asks instead, voice soft though he can feel his heart thrumming against his chest, pounding in his ears. Harry is suddenly leaning in, pressing his forehead against Niall’s, licking his lips. It’s like he’s waiting for Niall to make up his mind.

And Niall can’t. Niall truly can’t. Because, what  _is_ Harry doing? It’s a real and fair question.

But at the same time, there’s a feeling, right in Niall’s gut that’s just telling him  _go ahead, what the fuck are you waiting for?_

“Wanna kiss you,” Harry says, finally. It’s a whisper that cuts through the darkness like a knife. “If that’s okay with you, I’d really fucking like to kiss you.”

Niall’s not sure if Harry’s sober enough for this. To deal with whatever happens in the morning when they’re both truly aware of their actions. But there’s a desperation in his tone that Niall understands better than anything, and he’s so tired of fighting the feeling that he leans in anyway, in spite of everything. Presses his dry lips against Harry’s slowly, unsure. Harry takes the lead, curls his palms against Niall’s face to hold him steady. Presses closer until there’s not a millimeter of space between them. And the lazy, soft kiss turns reckless and dirty before Niall’s inebriated brain can catch up.

It isn’t until Harry’s got his hand down his trousers that Niall thinks to ask, “Why?”, but Harry never replies. He just fumbles to pull down Niall’s zipper, to slip his jeans off his hips and tug at his boxers until they’re midway down Niall’s thighs and he can get his hand around him.

 

It doesn’t take long for Niall to come, his fingers digging into the skin of Harry’s back, sinking his teeth into his lip at the last moment to muffle his moan. He’s barely finished before Harry’s gruffly asks, low in his ear, “can I come on your stomach, Ni? All over you, please,” and he sounds so wound up and heated that Niall just nods frantically. Harry shifts over him more, and Niall stretches back in time to feel the splatter of it across his abdomen. He feels hot all over, exposed, still way too unsure of what’s just happened. Harry tugs Niall’s boxers the rest of the way off, uses them to wipe up the mess. Niall’s head is still fuzzy, alcohol still coursing through his system. He makes a quiet sound – a question, maybe, or some sort of apology, though he’s not sure what for. Harry pays it no mind.

“C’mon don’t fall asleep just yet, you’re gonna be cold,” he whispers. He passes something to Niall. When Niall takes it, he realizes it’s a shirt, so he tugs it on and lets Harry throw the blankets around them. When Harry curls around him, Niall can’t resist it. He cuddles back into Harry, pressing as close as he can. Kisses his neck before saying, raspy and quiet, “love you.”

 

-

 

It’s cold again when Niall wakes up in the morning. It’s the first thing he notices, though the blankets are tucked tight around him like someone else wanted to make sure he stayed warm. He opens his eyes slowly, squinting them and blinking hard at how dry and gritty they feel. It takes him a moment to open them fully. A few, blissful seconds pass in which he doesn’t remember a thing about the night before. He stretches, groans when his bones pop and he can feel his knee again.

It’s then that he recognizes the absence. There’s no arm wrapped around his waist to keep him immobile, no cheek pressed to his shoulder or neck, there are no cold toes tucked against his legs and no wild, curly hair over his pillow. He feels his heart drop and he freezes completely, looking over to find Harry’s space empty, the blanket fort partly caved in where it’s slipped off the edges of the chairs.

He’s alone.

It hits him all at once when he sits up swiftly, and he feels a heaviness behind his eyes, the beginning of a headache to go with the churning of his stomach. He groans, pressing his palms against his head and willing himself to move.

It doesn’t take him long to find the note, a Post-It with Harry’s hasty scribble across it:

_Sorry_

_Love you, xxxxx_

 

Niall stares at it for a moment. He’s not sure whether he wants to throw up or cry. Or maybe both. There are little scribbles at the edges, like Harry had to try a few pens before he found one that worked. The small  _x_ ’s are messy, one starts on top of the other one and it makes Niall’s tears almost spill over. He takes a deep breath, fights back a sob. He does his best to calm himself down, though everything aches and hurts and the waves of uncertainty rolling through him certainly aren’t helping his hangover.

 

The fact that they did what they did last night made Niall feel hopeful, somehow, that his feelings were not one sided, that Harry wanted what Niall did, still  _does_ , as much. But now it’s all hanging in the air and Niall’s whole world is upside down.

He doesn’t know how long he stays there, slumped against the side of the bed with Harry’s note crumpled between his clammy fingers. He curls up with his chin on top of his knees, blinking miserably at it. It’s the sound of knocking at the bedroom door that finally brings him back to the present. Niall wipes his hands quickly against the blankets, pulling them over his naked legs and curling his hand tight around the note a moment before Bobby pushes the door open.

“I’ve been calling you from downstairs for about ten minutes, came to check on you. Figured you went back to sleep,” he says, quietly. He’s eyeing the shirt Niall’s wearing, and Niall glances down at it. His heart sinks into his stomach when he realizes it’s the black one, one size too big on Harry, two sizes too big on Niall. “Nialler,” Bobby clears his throat, stepping into the room fully. Niall looks quickly back up at him, hopes the shaking of his hands isn’t too obvious. “Is everything alright?”

Niall doesn’t stay anything for a bit, afraid that the lump in his throat will make his voice break and give him away. He nods instead, fixing his eyes on his own fingers when he can’t stand to look at Bobby any longer.

“Does all this has anything to do with Harry?”

Niall tries his best to set his jaw, to give off the idea that he’s alright. But he’s never been any good at hiding stuff like this from Bobby. Finally, he cracks.

“Do you know where he is?” he asks, glancing over again. He wants to hope that Harry’s just downstairs, making breakfast or something. Putting up more fairy lights. He knows he’s wrong even before Bobby gives a sad shake of his head. He swallows hard, sucking on his lip when it starts to wobble. “Did he – like, did he pack up and leave?”

When Bobby shakes his head again, Niall’s doing anything he can to keep from gasping in relief.

“He left about two hours ago, looking as pale and frightened as you do right now,” Bobby explains. He slowly lowers himself to the floor, sitting in one of the pillows tossed near the entrance of the fort. “C’mon now, it can’t be so bad, don’t cry on me now. It’s okay that you finally told him. Just give him some time.”

“I didn’t,” Niall mutters, ducking his head down. He really can’t look up at his dad right now, at his caring eyes and his comforting smile. It’ll only make him feel worse, for himself, for everything he managed to fuck up.

“You didn’t what?”

“I didn’t tell him, Da. I never did.”

 

And maybe he should have, that’s the thing. Maybe he should have said something before letting things escalate last night. He should have opened his mouth, and not only to kiss him.  He should have told him how he felt, what he felt. Why he felt it. Maybe then Harry would have stopped. Maybe then Niall would have accepted it, would have let it go with a laugh. Or maybe it would have happened anyway. The kissing, the clumsy hands, the ill-concealed moans. Maybe it would have happened with a purpose, a definite and clear path ahead.  _Maybe, maybe, maybe._  Niall’s head hurts so much.

“That’s okay, too,” Bobby tells him softly.

Niall starts crying, then. Quietly. The tears finally spill over, and a quiet sound escapes his throat, chest tightening as the pent up emotion begins to spill over. He covers his mouth with his hand, the empty one, the one that doesn’t have Harry’s note all crumpled up inside it. He lets his dad rub his back as he sniffles and tries his best to hold it all back. It making his stomach hurt, and he presses the heel of his hand down against his eye, pressing his lips together.

 “Don’t do that, now, you have to breathe,” Bobby chides softly, “just let it out, Nialler. It’s only us here.”

A quiet sob escapes him, at that, and then another, and Bobby strokes his hair just like he always used to when Niall got into bike accidents or fights with Greg. Niall begins to feel better after a few minutes, even if a bit empty, a bit rough around the edges. Begins to feel like a weight’s been lifted off his chest, even if he still has no idea what time it is, or where the fuck Harry is. He feels lighter.

“There you go, now,” Niall can hear a bit of a smile in Bobby’s voice, knows it’s gentle. “Would you like something to eat? Drink?”

He’s still rubbing his back, and Niall can’t really remember the last time he cried on his dad’s shoulder, the last time he let himself be so vulnerable and exposed. But he’s so thankful for having him there, always comforting and supportive and ready to help Niall in everything he can.

He leaves Niall to get properly dressed. When Niall comes downstairs, he’s greeted by a strong cup of coffee and the best Irish stew he’s had in months. He explains, in the least embarrassing way possible, exactly what happened. Bobby takes it all in his stride, and Niall’s thankful for that.

“You might not want to hear this from me,” he begins, once Niall’s finished his part, watching him intently to make sure he’s listening, “but you shouldn’t let him go. I never got too much into it, because you always seemed to be fine, figuring it out by yourself. But I’ve never thought your feelings are unrequited. I still don’t.”

Bobby looks so sure, so intent on making sure Niall knows, and he does.

“And you can’t let the fear that’s stopping you now and that’s stopped you for the past years stop you anymore,” Bobby continues, sounding stern now, “you’ve got to take what you feel and talk it out with him, set things straight and make them clear. If you don’t fix things now, it’s always gonna bother you and bite you in the arse.”

 

It’s because of this that Niall gets out of the house and goes looking for Harry.

He has a vague idea, more like a memory, of where he could be. He remembers, back in 2010, when he took Harry to mass with him. Harry had found the church beautiful, from the outside as much as the inside. Across the street, there was a bench, and he’d sat there with Niall until it was dark and cold and the building looked it even more magnificent and kind of terrifying. And they’d just talked, about what Niall can’t really remember. Their dreams, maybe. Their hopes and goals. What they thought the X Factor would bring. Harry had taken a photo from that spot, just one, at an angle that had made it seem even bigger, illuminated by the only two lamp posts of the street.

Days later, they’d found themselves back on the bench. This time, piss drunk and trying to sober up before going home to Bobby’s light scolding. Young, cheeks rosy, way too giggly and still getting to know each other.

It’s just a bench. But it’s the first thing that pops into Niall’s head – the first thing that feels like it would have a meaning to Harry. He could recall bits and pieces of their deeper conversations. Things like,  _what if we don’t get along and we get kicked out too soon?_ And  _do you think they’ll be too harsh on us if we mess it up? It’s gonna be live, what if I forget the lyrics? What if my jeans fall down?_ Above all, though, he remembers one moment in particular. The one moment that plays over in his head as he makes his way down the sludgy street.  _I think I like boys as much as I like girls, but it’s kinda hard to figure it out,_ Harry had said, eyes wide and anxious, hands curled together in his lap.  _You’re the first to know about this, actually. I trust you, Ni. I can already tell we’ll be best friends. I think all of us will. I think we’ll take the world by storm._  It had sounded so genuine, so ready and sure and strong, even though it was a quiet conversation between two sixteen year old kids.

Niall remembers it so well, how much and for how long he had hugged Harry that night before going home. How much it meant to him, to have Harry there, solid and real when his whole life was about to change.

The walk towards the church takes him about fifteen minutes, all of which are spent thinking back on their little memories together. How nervous they’d been before the first live show, Niall absolutely bricking it as they stepped onto the stage for the first time. All the things they’d done, all the places they’d been since. All right there by each other’s sides. When he finally reaches his destination his eyes are a bit misty, and he feels odd, somehow shaky. Maybe because he realizes how much this actually means, now. How big it is. That this moment could change everything, could send years worth of friendship straight down the toilet if he doesn’t get it right. But it’s a risk he has to take – he knows that now.

He takes deep breaths as he approaches the bench. He can see a figure sat there. And it is Harry, of course. He recognizes him right away, reckons he could do it from ten miles off; could do it with his eyes covered. Harry’s taken up the middle of it, as if to prevent anyone from sitting with him, even though the street is deserted. Everyone is inside the church, Niall can see the warm light through the windows, hear a faint drift of a melody. Belatedly, he remembers it’s Christmas Eve.

Harry is hunched over himself, looking down at the snow covered pavement by his feet, almost without blinking. Niall slows to a stop and watches him a moment. When Harry doesn’t stir, he speaks.

“Can I?” he asks, and though he keeps his voice quiet, it still sounds rough. Harry turns quickly to look at him, his eyes are wide, mouth hanging open. He closes it, opens it again but no sound comes out. Niall realizes he must not have heard him approach, and he feels bad for taking him by surprise. He gives him a small smile, stepping closer and nodding toward the bench. Finally, Harry gets his wits about him enough to scoot over, sliding off to the side of the bench. Niall laughs, lowering himself into the empty spot. ”No need to fall out of the chair, my arse is not that big, really.”

“How did you know I was here?” Harry asks, forehead creasing.

“Way too many memories,” Niall shrugs, glancing at him before looking back up at the church. It is a truly beautiful building. Old, and humble, but it’s Mullingar. It’s Mullingar all over.

Harry lets out a soft laugh.

 “I know,” he replies. Niall’s lips twitch, almost into a smile, but Harry’s next words bring the nerves bubbling back up into his stomach.

“Seemed like the right place to come after…“ he trails off, and Niall looks back to him, dropping his chin in a nod.

“Yeah,” he agrees. Harry lets out a soft breath. When his eyes meet Niall’s, he’s worried again, mouth pinched in a tight little frown.

“Are you mad?” he asks, low like he’s afraid of the answer.

“Yeah,” Niall repeats, his voice a bit more quite than before. He hates admitting it, but he is. He’s not sure whether at Harry or himself. Or, maybe, the whole situation. He’s mad that it all had to come to this, that the first time he really kissed Harry he was drunk off his arse. That the first time he told him he loved him was a beer-tainted slur.

“I’m sorry, Ni,” Harry says, this time turning fully to look at him, scooting carefully closer.

“For what, though?” Niall asks. And he doesn’t glance away, again. He forces himself not to, as terrified as he is of facing this. It’s the first time in a long time he hasn’t shrunk away from his feelings; the first time in a long time he’s really looked at Harry. “For leaving this morning while I was asleep? For kissing me? For getting drunk?”

“For all of that, I guess,” Harry mumbles.

“You  _guess_?” Niall asks, and he can’t help the way his voice wavers, ever so slightly. This means too much to him for it to be an ‘I guess’. He needs to know what Harry means. He needs to know _why_ he’s sorry, whether he wishes it had never happened. He needs to know what to do with the way his heart still yearns for the curly-haired boy.

“Niall I –“ Harry looks startled, now, at the heat in his words, but Niall cuts him off. He didn’t come here for an apology. He came here for an answer.

“- No, Harry, fuck. You have to be more specific than that,” Niall presses, and he leans closer, lowers his voice more. “What happened last night is my fault as much as it is yours. And if you’re sorry, if you regret it, I need to know. I deserve to know so I know where to go from here.”

He watches Harry intently, desperately. He isn’t sure what he’s trying to say, or how. Isn’t sure what he wants Harry to say, either. Isn’t sure he’s ready to hear it, but he can’t go another second without knowing.

“I don’t regret last night,” Harry replies, finally, lowering his head for a second. He takes a deep breath, squaring his shoulders, and when he looks back at Niall he looks more solid. He doesn’t look like he might run away again. “I regret doing it when I was half drunk. And I regret not talking about it, before or after. I’m sorry for leaving, I’m sorry I pretended I didn’t hear you last night when you said you loved me.”

Now, it’s Niall’s mouth that falls open, words all caught in his throat.

“You –“

“I was still awake,” Harry speaks faster, now, rubbing his palms on his jeans, “I was awake for a long after you fell asleep Niall. I couldn’t stop thinking. I went through every memory I have of us, like, and I still can’t pinpoint the moment that made me fall in love with you.”

Niall takes in a breath, the cold sharp against his lungs. His mind is racing, and he’s half convinced he didn’t even hear the words, that he must have imagined them, but Harry’s still going on and Niall forces himself to listen.

 “I’ve spent the last two hours trying to think of a reason of why I didn’t figure it out earlier. Why did it take me getting snowed in for the holidays, getting drunk off my arse to realize how much I wanted to kiss you?” Harry looks up at him like he expects an answer, but Niall honestly can’t think of a single thing to say. Harry reaches for his hand, gives it a careful squeeze, and lets out a quiet laugh.

“It’s always been so natural, to just be us, you know? To hug you whenever I want to, to slap your bum when you’re around,” he grins a little, at that, and then shifts, fingers curling tighter around Niall’s. “To sit you in my lap or sit in yours. It’s always so easy that I never gave it much thought, and it’s until now that I realize I’ve been a complete idiot.”

He nods, and Niall gets the sense that he’s finally finished his part, all he needed to say. He shakes his head in disbelief, looks down at their hands. Feels something swell in his chest.

“It’s not only been you,” he admits quietly. He turns Harry’s hand over, rubs his thumb against his palm and plays with his fingers. They’re cold. He wraps both of his hands around them. “We’ve both been the biggest fools to ever grace the earth, haven’t we?”

Harry’s smile is small in size, but the meaning behind it is infinite. It makes Niall’s insides feel like jelly, like his heart is going to beat out of his chest at any minute.

 “I know,” Harry scoots closer, until their arms touch. “I’m sorry it took me so long to see what was right under my nose.”

“ _All that you want’s under your nose,”_  Niall sings softly, voice quickly dissolving into a snicker. He feels like he can finally breathe again, even as Harry leans in closer, rests his head against his. Niall smiles, gives Harry’s leg a nudge as he laughs.

 

“Lucky you’re cute,” Harry tells him. And then he presses his lips to his nose. Niall scrunches it up, moving to lean away, but Harry’s quicker. He ducks to plant a firm kiss on Niall’s lips, and Niall can’t even pretend like he’d ever want anything else. He lets his eyes fall closed, presses his lips softly to Harry’s. It’s quick, and chaste, and he leans into Harry when he pulls back. Keeps his eyes closed as Harry untangles his hand from Niall’s to curl around the back of his neck, fingers stroking the hair at the nape of his neck. Lets out a slow breath and sinks into the feeling.

“I heard you, you know? When you were talking to your dad,” Harry whispers. It makes Niall open his eyes in an instant, cheeks going red. He looks up at Harry, whose smile just grows the redder he gets.

“When you were getting the Scrabble? Or when you were getting us tea?” Niall asks.

“The Scrabble,” Harry says, crossing his eyes a bit and smiling teasingly at Niall, “you talked about me while I was getting you tea?! That’s outrageous, how dare you?”

“Shove off,” Niall laughs, he hits Harry’s thigh playfully, leaving his hand there where Harry’s warm and solid. Because he’s allowed, now. Because it’s nice. Harry chuckles, and Niall grins, glancing toward the church.

“Should we go home, now? I really wanna kiss you and all that, but mass is about to end and I don’t want a bunch of people seeing that.”

He isn’t expecting it when Harry gets closer, grabs his chin and presses his lips against his. He makes a quiet sound in his throat, disgusted at how easily Harry has him already. Doing nothing to stop him, of course. It’s a slow kiss, languid, easy. He reaches to curl his fingers through Harry’s hair, lets him drag it out until the bells start ringing and Niall’s gone all breathless, cheeks ever rosier than before.

“That was –“ he begins, carefully pulling back as the church doors creak open.

“Just a taste of what we’ll be doing when we get back home to our humble blanket fort,” Harry smirks. Niall’s eyes go wide, and he opens his mouth to chastise Harry for implying such things in front of the people of God, but Harry’s already standing and reaching to tug him up. Niall barely manages to find his balance before he’s being led off down the snowy streets, Christmas lights glittering all around them. Harry’s arm wrapped firmly about his waist. Above, the sky is clear and the stars are bright. Behind, laughter and good wishes spill into the night.

And ahead of them, well, Niall isn’t so sure. Home, for one. Bobby, with his creaky back and kind eyes. Their blanket fort, and Christmas the way it should be. Life the way it should be. And then, whatever lies beyond that. Ahead of them, hopefully, is happiness.

 

**Author's Note:**

> the biggest thank you to maria for the endless support and wonderful ideas, tara for making this fic 10x times better and shannon for irish picking and helping me out with the tiny details, this fic wouldn't be this same without your help, your support and your cheering, thank you<3


End file.
